


The Golden Boys

by Slothnie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle Attend Hogwarts Together, Harry is a Little Shit, Harry is a champion, I'm Bad At Summaries, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Or not, Rating May Change, Roosters are amazing pets, Tea Parties, Teenage Tom Riddle, Tom is a champion, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slothnie/pseuds/Slothnie
Summary: Upon entering his 7th and final year at Hogwarts, Tom decides that the reinstated Triwizard Tournament is a golden opportunity for him to gain eternal glory (how fitting for his Dark Lord prospects!). Tom, of course, emerges as Hogwarts’ Champion, but when a second name comes out of the treacherous Goblet of Fire, revealed to be Harry Potter, of all people, Tom is beyond furious…... because nothing good ever happens when it comes to Potter.(crack with an attempt at plot)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 89
Kudos: 196





	1. the Goblet of  Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine has officially unhinged me. What better way to demonstrate this than by writing crack?
> 
> Enjoy!

‘How was your summer, Tom?’

Tom is reminded of flashes of dark, powerful and exhilarating magic.

‘Oh, very productive, sir.’ Tom answers with a knowing smile.

‘Wonderful!’ Slughorn says, oblivious to the hungry look in Tom's eyes. ‘I take it you have received your letter regarding your promotion to Head Boy?’

‘Yes,’ Tom says silkily. ‘I’ve also discussed my responsibilities with the Headmaster through the correspondence.’

‘Very well!’ Slughorn smiles at him with approval. 'Always ahead of the game, Tom!'

‘Thank you, Professor. You are too kind.'

‘I am expecting great things from you in your Seventh year at Hogwarts, Tom.' Slughorn winks, as if knowing something Tom does not. 'Off you go, my boy!’

'Have a good day, sir.' Tom says courteously, before turning on his heels and exiting the compartment.

With the title of Head Boy comes additional responsibilities. Nothing that Tom cannot handle, of course. He slides into a different compartment at the rear of the train where newly appointed and returning Prefects are waiting for Tom's instructions. After scanning the cubicle, Tom notes a distinct lack of unruly hair and smeared round glasses.

'Does anyone know where Potter is?' Tom inquires, the taste of the boy’s name on his tongue an unwelcome one. 

A fifth year Ravenclaw girl raises her hand.

'Yes, Hornby?' 

'Harry's not feeling very well,' Hornby says, biting her lips. It cannot be more obvious that the girl is covering for Potter. 'He says he's got... _kinetosis_... or something.'

Kinetosis. Tom narrows his eyes. A Muggle medical term for motion sickness. Nothing a simple denauseating charm would not fix, but Tom knows better than to believe in Potter and his silly lies.

 _Already slacking off_ , Tom mentally scoffs. 

'I see. We'll begin the meeting without Potter, then.' Tom says, smiling.

Things often prove to go smoothly without Potter anyway.

*

When the Hogwarts Express reaches its destination, Tom volunteers to guide an anxious-looking group of First Year students to the Great Lake. Tom looks at them with mild disgust. They are… small. Vulnerable and shy and easily intimidated.

‘Um, what's your name… sir?’ the little girl next to him says in a squeaky voice.

‘Tom Riddle,’ he smiles at her, making sure that the warmth reaches his eyes. ‘and you are Miss…?’

‘Miss Brown,’

‘Miss Brown.’ Tom drawls silkily. A halfblood, most likely. 'what a pleasant name.'

The little girl flushes. 

They arrive at the boats.

‘Have a good evening and welcome to Hogwarts. I hope to see you all in House Slytherin.’

When Tom turns on his back, the little girls break into giggles.

By the time Tom reaches the Slytherin table, his followers are already there waiting for him. Tom takes the seat at the center of the group and listens attentively as his associates fill him in with intelligence acquired through the summer, subjects ranging from news from the Ministry to advances in the Dark Arts. 

‘Word has it that something is going to happen this year at Hogwarts,’ Abraxas Malfoy says, earning perplexed looks from his Slytherin peers. ‘Something big, involving dangerous games.’

‘I suppose your Father told you about this?’ Eddie Nott inquires.

‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ Abraxas returns. ‘Father has many contacts high up in the Ministry who confirm this. Well, I suppose you’ll see soon enough for yourself!’

Despite Abraxas’ prediction, the welcoming feast proves to be very standard, consisting of a typical word of welcome from Headmaster Dippet, followed by the Sorting Ceremony. Soon afterwards, food materialises in their plates and students dig in with avid appetite.

The evening passes by pleasantly. That is, until a familiar feeling creeps up Tom’s spine. Tom is not disappointed when he raises his gaze to find a pair of black, beady eyes glaring at him from across the Gryffindor Table with murderous intent. It – Tom _refuses_ to call Potter’s hideous rooster pet by its equally hideous name, Cuckoo – flaps its wing wildly and charges at Tom.

For the hundredth time, Tom barely contains an urge to send the killing curse at the creature.

When Tom finally manages to get the rooster off himself, he realizes that his associates are shaking quietly with laughter. A scathing glare shuts them up. 

‘Hey, Cuckoo!’ Potter comes shuffling to the Slytherin Table. ‘Now, play nice!'

‘Potter,’ Tom greets coldly. ‘Please control your pet.’

‘Oh, hello there, Riddle!’ Potter beams at him, his bird nest of a head never failing to ruin Tom’s appetite. ‘Sorry about Cuckoo. You know how much he likes you. I bet he missed you a lot over the summer break!’

Tom raises a brow. Potter is either a moron or a very good liar. There is nothing but hatred for Tom that shines in the rooster’s bead-like eyes, and the sentiment is very much returned.

‘I have repeated this many a time, Potter.’ Tom says patiently, in a tone he reserves for slow students. ‘You should consider leaving your pet in the gamekeeper’s capable hands or perhaps the Owlery, where it can refrain from perturbing students and staff alike.’

‘Cuckoo’s a special boy.’ Potter argues, hugging his pet protectively. ‘He’s really attached to me, and I refuse to leave him alone in a room full of haughty owls! They always pick on him for being _different_!’

Why Potter had chosen to keep a rooster as a pet completely eludes Tom. Roosters are excessively loud, unintelligent and of little practical use (they can only fly a distance of 200 feet). Owls are by far more convenient, hence their rising popularity among students… and who had allowed Potter to keep a rooster at school in the first place? Riddle suspects the involvement of Dumbledore, whose penchant for oddities is on par with Potter’s.

Tom pats off the few feathers that got trapped in his hair and robes. ‘That doesn’t excuse your pet’s disruptive behavior, Potter. I suggest investing in a sound-proof cage, or at least a tight leash if you insist on parading it around the castle.’

‘I would hate to restrict him like that!’ Potter retorts hotly. ‘And ‘it’ has a name, you know, and it’s Cuckoo!’

Tom is entirely aware of the looks he is getting from other students around them. He snaps his attention back on Potter, who he is tempted to hex any minute now.

‘Potter –’

Just then, Dippet casts an Amplifying Charm, filling the Great Hall with his old, scratchy voice.

Potter quickly shuffles back to the Gryffindor Table with his pet rooster in one arm (leaving a trail of golden feathers behind him), much to Tom’s relief. 

It is exhausting to converse with idiots, especially eccentric ones like Potter.

‘Now that you are well fed and hydrated, I must give a few words of notice.’ Dippet states. ‘First, I must regret to announce that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year!’

A loud thud can be heard from the Gryffindor Table. Tom does not need to look up to know that it is Potter (Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain and Seeker) who had fallen from the bench, presumably out of shock.

Tom scoffs at the plebeian movement and revels in the look of disappointment in those emerald eyes. The cancellation of Quidditch is much welcomed as far as Tom is concerned as he had never understood the significance of flying like insects in the air.

‘This is due to an event that will be hosted in Hogwarts, an important event which will last throughout the year.’ Dippet explained, but the students are no less enraged by the annulment of their favorite sports competition. ‘One which will take much of the staff and students’ time and energy, believe me.’

Abraxas looks smug.

‘This year, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will have the honor and pleasure of hosting the reinstated Triwizard Tournament!’ Dippet announces unexpectedly, catching even Tom off guard. Following this revelation, a wave of whispers fills the Great Hall. Excitement soon dispels the earlier spell of anger. ‘In late October, we will be joined by Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in a friendly traditional competition!’

‘I can see that most of you are well-acquainted with the Triwizard Tournament.’ Dippet commented, smiling at the sea of excited students before him. ‘For those of you who are not aware what this tournament involves, let me enlighten you…’

Tom’s knowledge of the Triwizard Tournament is limited. He read in Hogwarts: A History that the last competition was held in 1792 and was thereafter banned owing to its high mortality rate. To reinstall the tradition is a risky move, especially considering the ongoing war against Grindelwald… perhaps a desperate attempt to improve morale and international relations?

‘– a champion will be selected to represent each school and they will compete in three Tasks designed to test magical ability, intelligence and courage. The champions will be chosen by an impartial judge on the night of Halloween and will be invited to fight for the Triwizard Cup, eternal glory and a monetary prize of 1,000 galleons!’

Tom considers this information with growing interest.

The chance to to gain eternal fame and glory is presented to him on a silver platter. As a champion, Tom will make a name for himself beyond the walls of Hogwarts. Upon winning the Triwizard Cup (which Tom will make sure of, without doubt), his influence will extend even farther... perhaps all across Europe.

It is, however, a pity that the Triwizard Cup will be awarded to the winning school and not the victorious champion (as it would have made a splendid Horcrux). Notably, the promised 1,000 galleons is a handsome prize (not that Tom will ever admit it aloud to his wealthy Slytherin peers). The sum will be more than enough to pay for his living expenses once he graduates and can maybe even finance his trip to study Dark Magic abroad… among other future ambitions.

‘I must warn you that the reinstallation of the Triwizard Tournament is accepted this year with a unique condition: only students over the age of 17 are allowed to participate.’

This news is received with groans and protests from the crowd. Accusations of injustice and distasteful jokes soon fill the Great Hall. _Fools_ , Tom thinks. They never stood a chance in the first place.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, please. If we consider the high death tolls associated with the games in the past, this is a measure of precaution the Ministry must task. Now, I believe it is enough excitement for one night. Good night to you all!’

Tom stands up to round up the First Year Slytherins when Abraxas taps him lightly on the shoulder.

‘Are you going to nominate yourself, Tom?’ he asks, studying him carefully.

The others shift around him tensely. If Tom decides to participate in the Tournament, they know that they will have no chance of competing as Champion.

‘Yes.’ 

*

On the 30th of October, the delegations for Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic make their flamboyant entrance at Hogwarts.

‘Let us give a warm welcome to our friends in the North, the Durmstrang Institute!’ says Dippet jovially. ‘And there they are! The lovely ladies of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic! I dare say that Madam Joliette is more seductive with each passing year! She matures just like red wine!’

‘Armando!’

Tom, among those who recognized the Triwizard Tournament as an opportunity for networking, researched both European schools. So far, he is more invested in Durmstrang, notorious for their attitude toward Dark Magic. Their curriculum will be a subject of interest to discuss once he gets closer to some of the students.

Abraxas, ever so eager to please his Lord, invited a handful of important looking Durmstrang students to their table, many of them known to be ‘acquaintances of the Malfoy family’. Tom shakes their hands firmly and engages them in small talk, charming mask locked in place. 

Tom’s smile falters when several high pitched squeals are voiced from the Gryffindor table.

‘What izz dat!’

‘My best friend Cuckoo!’ Potter says cheerfully, clearly enjoying the attention. ‘He is a good boy and _loves_ cuddles!’

To Tom’s horror, a circle begins to form around Potter.

‘Don’t worry, Mesdemoiselles ! Cuckoo does not bite, unless you are Tom Riddle, that is!’

The Beauxbatons girls seem to find this entertaining and giggle.

Potter has the audacity to look up and _wink_ at Tom.

Tom looks away with indignation.

*

That night, Tom puts his name in the Goblet of Fire. He watches with satisfaction as the flames lick at the parchment, accepting his nomination with a golden flash.

He already thinks of the glory and recognition that await him. He will make sure that everyone in the country remembers his name and - 

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he almost steps on a body.

‘Potter!’ Tom hisses. ‘What are you doing lying on the floor?’

‘Watching over the Goblet of Fire!’ Potter says, as if it’s the most obvious fact in the world. He stretches his arms out, yawning. ‘It’s apparently a prefect duty to supervise the goblet. You know, just in case it grows legs and decides to run away!’

‘I am perfectly aware of your prefect duties entail, seeing that I have given them myself.’ Tom snaps impatiently. ‘What I would like to know is why you are sprawled across the floor in such an unsightly fashion.’

Potter shrugs sheepishly.

Tom takes a step forward, towering over the shorter boy. ‘It is not lost on me how unseriously you take your duties, Potter. However, it is your responsibility, as a Prefect, to represent the school in a respectable, dignified manner, especially in the presence of foreign visitors. I would hate to take House points from a Prefect, but I will do so in the future if your conduct does not improve.’

‘Yeah, yeah… Mr. Head Boy.’ Potter waves a hand dismissively. Tom clenches his jaw. Nobody dismisses Tom like this, not even Dumbledore. ‘By the way, Riddle, I just saw you put your name in the goblet. I must say, I did not take you for the Champion type.’

Tom narrows his eyes. ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Potter?’

‘Nothing!’ Potter pulls out a rooster-shaped cookie with bright orange frosting from his robes (how unhygienic) and shoves it in Tom’s face. ‘Want some? I sneaked into the Kitchen and baked a whole batch of these. Don’t tell the House-Elves, they’ll murder me in my sleep!’

How the boy managed to keep his position as prefect is beyond Tom.

‘...I do not enjoy sweets.’ 

Potter nibbles on the biscuit.

‘Mm s’delicious!’ Tom watches with disgust as Potter talks with a mouth full of orange frosting. ‘I’m telling you, Riddle, you’re missing out on these goodies.’

Tom ignores him and eagerly changes the subject. ‘What do you think of the Triwizard Tournament, Potter? Any thoughts of entering the competition?’

‘Nope! Being a Champion is exciting and all but personally, I reckon it’s overrated.’ Potter says chirpily, before rising to his feet to tap Tom’s shoulder amicably. A few crumbles of cookies fall over Tom’s robes. ‘Besides, I’m rooting for you, Riddle! You’re the Golden Boy!’

Tom quickly dusts off the biscuit crumbles.

Potter seems to catch sight of something interesting in the distance. Tom follows the trail of his gaze and observes a Half-Giant walking toward them with a rooster on a leash (after filing no less than 4 anonymous complaints in the past two months, Tom has finally gotten Potter to put a leash on that excuse of a pet).

‘Hagrid!’ Potter calls out with glee. ‘over here!’

‘Good evening, Riddle, Harry.’ The oversized 5th year student says. 'Fine evening, ain't it?'

Tom nods diplomatically. 

‘Thanks for taking Cuckoo out on a walk, Hagrid!’ Potter says. ‘He’s quite a handful, isn’t he?’

‘Not at all, Harry!’ the Half-Giant says and eyes the rooster with a disgusting amount of affection. ‘Cuckoo has been a good lad t’night. He did not hump the hens like he did the other day!’

‘Wonderful! Our serious talk about consent definitely paid off!’

Just then, the rooster locks eyes with Tom.

That’s Tom’s cue to quickly walk away.

*

The next day, the entire school is abuzz with rumors and speculations of who had or had not entered their names in the Goblet of Fire. These conversations soon turn into a betting game of who will be chosen as the Champion. 

‘I heard that all the prefects above the age limit entered their names.’

‘I don’t think so. Harry Potter did not seem very interested.’

‘Yeah, that’s Potter for you, alright.’

‘I bet all my savings that Tom Riddle will be chosen as Champion. Did you write that down?’

‘Yep, 20 Galleons for Tom Riddle.”

‘I almost feel bad for the other schools. With Riddle on board, it’s not even going to be a comp - oh hey! Madam Joliette!’

*

Supper at the Great Hall is a tense affair. The candlelit Hall is occupied to its maximum capacity due to accommodating the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang student bodies. Tom and his followers are sitting next to the Durmstrang party, who are whispering in German and stealing glances at Tom, clearly having heard rumours of his genius.

With the end of supper signalled by Dumbledore, the combined student body of all three wizarding schools grows silent, as if holding a collective breath. Dippet rises from the Long Table and paces around the Goblet of Fire, which had been moved to the front of the Great Hall. With a flick of his wand, the Headmaster extinguishes every last candle in the dining Hall. Only the vibrant glow of the goblet can be perceived in the darkness.

As if on cue, the flames inside the Goblet of Fire suddenly bursts into crimson red, and raging sparks begin to fly from the flames. Then, a lick of flame shoots out and from it a piece of parchment flutters in the air. Dippet catches it

‘The champion of Durmstrang,’ says Dippet. ‘is Elias Wagner!’

A pale-haired boy stands up from the Slytherin table. Tom remembers having conversed with Wagner the previous evening. A swarm of applause and praises follow him as Wagner strides across the Great Hall and accepts his championship, before disappearing through the door leading to the chamber.

A second piece of parchment flies out of the goblet, propelled by the raging red flames. ‘Beauxbatons’ champion will be… Emmanuelle Beauregard!’

A tall girl emerges from the Ravenclaw Table. When she disappears into the door, a pregnant silence befalls the Great Hall. Anticipation grows exponentially among the Hogwarts students, who are shifting in their seats to get a better look at the goblet. 

The moment has arrived.

When the Goblet of Fire spits out a single piece of parchment, Tom knows for a fact that it will be his name inscribed on it, so he prepares to slip on his best smile as Dippet announces Hogwarts’ Champion.

‘The Hogwarts champion will be… Tom Riddle!’ 

The Slytherin Table roars with pride. A few of Tom’s associates are jumping on the table and shouting juvenile remarks. A barbaric display, but Tom will allow it for tonight.

Putting on his most charismatic smile for the public, Tom glides along the Slytherin Table, taking every step with triumph. 

Tom can hear Slughorn’s thunderous voice over the deafening applause: ‘Yes! I knew you had it in you, Tom! Professor Merrythought, I believe you owe me no less than 10 Galleons!’

But the cheering and whistling stop prematurely and soon Tom realizes that everyone in the Hall is watching the Goblet of Fire with unease.

The fire turns red again.

A fourth piece of parchment hovers in the air.

‘I… I don’t understand…’ the Headmaster croaks, staring at it in disbelief.

Dumbledore walks up to his superior, and peers over his shoulder. For a split second, Tom can see a flash of alarm clouding the Transfiguration teacher’s twinkly blue eyes.

‘The champions of Hogwarts,’ Dumbledore declares. ‘are Tom Riddle… and Harry Potter!’

Tom’s perfect mask crumbles into a scowl. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else wondering why Harry's rooster hates Tom?


	2. the Four Champions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH, thank you so much for all the lovely comments <3 I really enjoyed reading them! 
> 
> Btw I noticed that Cuckoo's getting quite popular among the readers! :) Tom better watch out!
> 
> Enjoy Chapter 2!

There is no applause or cheers in the next moments that follow. The deafening silence is only broken by a wave of _Boooo’s_ and unpleasant remarks from the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang parties. 

Tom clenches his fist as he steps into the door, mind boiling with pure fury. This was _not_ supposed to happen. Tonight is supposed to be his grand moment of recognition, a revelation of his genius to the world... yet he, a _Champion_ , is left forgotten and fuming quietly in the shadows… unacceptable. And of course, it had to be Potter, that ludicrous idiot, to step into the picture and ruin everything for Tom…!

Potter, as usual, has a talent for appearing where he is least wanted.

‘Hey Riddle… wait up!’ 

Tom walks faster.

‘Blimey, you’ve got a pair of really long legs, Riddle.’ Potter pants next to him. ‘Ever think of donating – _whoa_ , _whoa,_ are you ok? You look like Christmas just got cancelled!’

‘Potter,’ Tom comes to an abrupt halt and snaps his head to the boy. ‘What did you do this time?’

Potter also stops walking. ‘What do you mean, Riddle?’

Bright green eyes blink widely at him, the epitome of innocence.

Tom does not buy it for a second.

‘This is one of your pranks, isn’t it?’ Tom glares and if looks could kill, Potter would have died seven times. ‘It must feel very special to be the only Fourth Champion recorded in history… _very_ amusing, but I think the pleasantries end here.’

‘Wait,’ Potter points at himself. ‘Are you implying that I somehow managed to trick the Goblet of Fire? Wow, I am honored that you think so highly of me, Riddle.’

Tom rearranges his thoughts. Right. Potter is lazy, incompetent and moronic. There is no way he can manage to fool a highly complex magical artefact such as the Goblet of Fire, especially without the other professors noticing. It was ridiculous to even consider the idea, but _something_ about Potter always makes Tom think illogically…

‘ - but like I said before, I want nothing to do with being a champion.’ Potter continues, scratching his head in confusion. ‘I don’t even know why I was chosen. I never entered my name in the goblet…'

Even if Potter _did_ nominate himself, an incompetent like him would never be selected to represent Hogwarts... and that still leaves the question of how a Fourth Champion emerged from the goblet...

Regardless, Tom refuses to share Championship with someone else - especially not with the likes of _Potter_ \- a title that should belong to Tom and Tom alone. 

Tom will find a way to kick Potter out of the championship.

‘Riddle? Hellooooooo! Are you listening?’

Tom walks away, increasing the distance between himself and Potter.

‘Hey, wait up!’

*

‘A Fourth Champion?’ Wagner looks at Potter in disbelief. ‘but there can only be three – it’s called a Triwizard Tournament for a reason!’

‘Zis is most unfair!’ Beauregard glares at Potter. ‘Poudlard (Hogwarts, in French) cannot ‘ave two Champ-eee-ons!’

‘I know right! That would put Hogwarts at a clear advantage!’ Potter protests, oblivious to the fact that he is the source of everyone’s wrath. He then fists his right hand into the air idiotically. ‘Who else wants to start a petition?’

Before anyone can respond to Potter’s impertinent speech, the door behind them opens, catching their attention. A large group of people floods into the room: Headmaster Dippet, followed closely by Professor Dumbledore and by his side, Professor Slughorn, Madam Joliette, the Durmstrang Headmaster and a few members of the Ministry.

‘I refuse to accept this!’ The Durmstrang Headmaster booms, holding his cane with an almost aggressive grip. ‘I demand that Hogwarts respects the original terms that we agreed to or I will withdraw my students from this mess!’

Mr. Jones, the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, looks insulted. ‘Are you saying that you are willing to break the magical contract that we took several months to write, Mr. Vogt?’

They share a strained look. The Triwizard Tournament is an international effort to mend Germany’s strained relationship with Britain and France since Grindelwald’s rise to power, and Vogt knows that he cannot afford to offend either party.

‘I – I simply wish to have a plausible explanation as to why the Potter boy’s name emerged out of the goblet!’

‘I’ve been asking myself the same question, my good sir,’ Potter inserts himself cheerfully into the conversation, as if they are having a casual talk by the fireplace. ‘since I don’t recall putting my own name in the goblet of fire… unless someone did a great job at obliviating me!’

‘Someone else might have slipped your name as an idea of a joke.’ Wagner suggested. ‘Not a very funny one, if you ask me.’

‘Zat still does not explain why the goblet produced a Fourth Champ-eee-on!’ Madam Joliette points out, her heavy chest rising and falling dramatically. ‘This is ze first time I ‘eard of such a thing!’

‘Please, Madam Joliette, calm down.’ Dippet approached her tentatively. ‘I would hate to see your lovely face in a scowl.’

‘Armando!’

‘I do not see why this cannot be solved with a simple measure.’ Vogt intervenes and stares pointedly at Potter. ‘If the boy insists that he did not enter his own name, then let us give him the choice of removing himself from the tournament.’

Vogt’s suggestion is received with eagerness from most people in the room. For a moment, Tom is hopeful that Potter will be kicked out of the Triwizard Tournament without any form of resistance. 

‘I think that would be the most viable option,’ Tom says. ‘I do not think it is wise to involve an unwilling contestant. Furthermore, I am worried that Potter’s participation in the Triwizard may hinder his prefect activities, which he has expressed difficulty keeping up with, on top of passing his NEWTs courses.’

Tom said it without saying it at all: Potter is incompetent and unqualified for the Triwizard Tournament. 

‘That is very thoughtful of you, Tom.’ Dumbledore, who was quiet a moment ago, steps into the center of the room. Tom stiffens. He knows for a fact that the older man plans to turn the tides against him, like always, with a trademark twinkle in his eyes. ‘but I must argue that with the cancellation of Quidditch, Harry will have more time on his hands to invest in both his Prefect duties and the Triwizard Tournament.'

Tom smiles thinly. Next to him, Potter is uncharacteristically quiet.

Slughorn intervenes. ‘If I may, Albus, and with all due respect to Potter, it is clear to me that _Tom_ should be the rightful champion to represent Hogwarts. His excellence in academics and his outstanding contributions as a prefect and Head Boy over the years truly speak for themselves.’

‘Horace, A Head of House myself, I understand how easy it is to look out and grow fond of our students. However, as professors and in light of the Triwizard Tournament, we must set aside our personal preferences. The Goblet of Fire is, after all, our impartial judge.’

Slughorn turns red. ‘I am not playing favorites, Albus, I can assure you of that!’ 

‘Good! In that case, I will not comment on your bet with Professor Merrythought!’ Dumbledore winks at him.

‘I – that –’ Slughorn splutters.

‘If I may be so bold as to suggest, professor Dumbledore, professor Slughorn,’ Tom cuts in smoothly, commanding the attention of the entire room despite his soft, velvety voice. ‘that considering what Potter said and taking into account the absurdity of a Fourth Champion, there is reason to suspect that the Goblet of Fire was tampered with. If the complex magic that underlies the goblet’s decision is meddled with, then can we truly consider it an impartial judge, as we claim it to be, and accept its assessment?’

‘Whoa, Riddle, I was about to say the exact same thing!’ Potter exclaims. ‘Are our minds somehow _connected?_ ’

Tom ignores him.

‘You make a very insightful point, Tom.’ Dumbledore hums thoughtfully. ‘The goblet will be thoroughly inspected tonight as per your suggestion, but I’m afraid that no matter what answers we will find, we cannot reverse the Goblet of Fire’s decision once it is made.’

Tom can feel a vein popping on his forehead. Everything was going smoothly before Dumbledore stepped in – no, before Potter got involved … it was as if the two of them are working together to make Tom’s life as miserable as possible!

‘We can repeat ze process of ze goblet of fire again!’ Beauregard suggests hopefully. Murmurs of agreement follow.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Mr. Jones clears his throat. ‘let me remind you that it is a fundamental rule that all those whose names are chosen by the Goblet of Fire _must_ participate in all three Tasks. If we break this rule, the magical contract will be annulled, and the Triwizard Tournament will be cancelled.’

Tom’s breath stitches at this. The possibility of _cancelling_ the Tournament did not cross his mind. If one of the parties decide to withdraw from the magical contract, the Tournament will be all for naught and Tom’s ambitions will be unfulfilled, forgotten, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand…

 _No_ , _no, no_ \--

‘Verdict?’ asks Mr. Jones.

To his relief, all parties agree, though reluctantly, that the competition will take place with four Champions instead of three. One by one, people file out of the room, more disgruntled than not. 

Tom feels a rush of relief expand in his chess. Relief of the continuation of the Triwizard tournament. Happy that his hopes for his future plans are renewed.

‘Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me, Riddle!’ 

Like that, Tom's brief taste of contentment is gone. Replaced by bitterness and resentment and _hatred_ for Harry Potter. Because Tom _knows_ that the other boy will ruin the Triwizard Tournament one way or another. Potter had always found a way to interfere with Tom's ambitions in the past with his impertinence and eccentricities, especially with that demon rooster of his!

Dumbledore suddenly materializes in front of Tom, catching him off guard. The Transfiguration professor then shoves a hand full of yellow Muggle candies to his and Potter's faces. An unwelcome, sickening sweet citrus scent invades Tom’s nostrils.

‘Well, that was a long evening. Care for a lemon drop, boys? I promise it soothes the nerves!’

Tom politely declines.

‘Yes please!’ Potter takes no less than three candies from his Head of House and stuffs them into his mouth with the elegance of a starving caveman. Dumbledore pops one in his mouth.

Tom watches with horror as the two begin rolling the candies in their mouth in synchrony, as if part of a practised choreography.

‘You should try one too, Riddle!’ says Potter, suckling loudly.

Tom ignores him. ‘Is there anything else, professor? I would like to retire to my dormitory, as I have Head Boy duties first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘Ah yes… there’s one thing I’d like to discuss with you boys before I let you go.’ Dumbledore says, smiling kindly at Potter, then at Tom. A façade. Tom knows that the older man hates him, though he couldn’t say the same for Potter, who Dumbledore has a disgusting amount of fondness for.

‘Tom, I know that you are not pleased that Harry is a Hogwarts Champion. I am aware that it is not in your nature to share titles.’

Tom’s eyes widen, completely caught off guard by Dumbledore’s bluntness. ‘No, professor, I wouldn’t –’

Dumbledore does not give him the chance to finish. ‘As for you, Harry, I suspect that you are as invested in the Triwizard Tournament as you are in your Prefect duties.’

Potter scratches his hair sheepishly.

‘Though no less perplexed by the Goblet of Fire’s decision than both of you are, I am confident that the Tournament has a lot in store for you. Both of you. I am well aware that you boys are, in many ways, conflicting personalities, which is why I would like you to work out your differences throughout this Tournament.’

Tom knows where this is going. They are going to discuss feelings… ugh.

‘Harry,’ Dumbledore says. ‘This is a chance for you to prove that you are not the product of a fluke in the goblet. You and I both know that you are very talented, albeit in unconventional ways... I sometimes think that you give up too easily when it comes to academic achievements, so I want to see you in your best element and perform beyond anyone’s expectations in this Tournament.’

Dumbledore then twinkles at Tom, but Tom is not easily fooled. He knows far too well of the sliver of doubt hiding behind those sparkly blue eyes, always keeping an annoyingly close watch on him over the years.

‘Tom, if there’s one thing that’s clear to me, it’s that you are a very ambitious young man, almost to a fault at times… I would suggest that you take this unique situation as an opportunity to learn to share the spotlight and consider Harry as an equal rather than a mere opponent. I am confident that you two will come to cultivate a special relationship and appreciate the fine line between friendship and rivalry!’

Tom barely holds back a scowl. There will be no ‘special relationship’ – whatever that entails – between him and Potter. He will make sure of it!

‘Hear that, Riddle? We’re rivals now!' Potter says pompously, as if just to spite him. Dumbledore chuckles lightly. 'You better watch your back cause I’m all fired up!’ 

_Rival: a person who is in a position to dispute another's pre-eminence or superiority_

Tom narrows his eyes. 

Acknowledging Potter as his rival would imply that Tom considers him as a threat to his position, which cannot be further from the truth, because if Tom wanted, he could crush Potter easily like an insect, like he did countless other people.

No. Tom will never give Potter the satisfaction of recognizing him as his rival… _or_ his equal, for that matter.

*

The next morning, news of a Fourth Champion in the Triwizard Tournament is plastered on the front page of every newspaper in the country. The morning post bombards the Great Hall with flashy news headlines such as:

**A Tetrawizard Tournament?**

**Two Hogwarts Champions: fraud or mistake?**

**Are we forgetting about Grindelwald?**

Tom holds the newspaper in his hands with an almost aggressive grip. The addition of a Fourth Champion is clearly not well received by the media. There will be longterm consequences of depicting this year’s Triwizard Tournament in such a negative light. For one, it will take more effort to establish a good impression to the public.

Tom blames Potter.

Tom almost jumps when Potter, as if on cue, appears out of thin air (another infuriating talent of his!) and slides into the seat next to his... a place that is only granted to Tom’s most esteemed followers...

‘Potter,’ Tom hisses. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘I’m here to spy on my rival, of course!’ Potter says gleaming, edging painfully close to Tom, their thighs almost touching (ugh!). ‘Got to keep your friends close, and your enemies closer! Ever heard of that saying?’

Tom almost rolls his eyes at the idiot’s attempt to sound intelligent. Yes, he is quite well acquainted with the phrasing, having applied it many times throughout his school years at Hogwarts. How else did Tom rise to his current standing, with not a single Galleon to his obscure name?

‘I was wrong to expect that the Triwizard Tournament would encourage you to be on your best behavior, Potter.’ He answers coldly, refusing to comment on this ‘rival business’ of Potter’s. ‘I kindly ask you to return to your respective table. It is unsightly to see a Gryffindor Prefect mingling with students at the Slytherin Table.’

‘Oh, you know me… I’m all about inter-House fraternity!’ Potter chirps, and Tom supposes that he is telling the truth. Potter has a weird fascination with befriending individuals from a variety of backgrounds, going well beyond House loyalties and races (the Half-breed and House-Elves, for instance). ‘Besides, I thought that you and your friends could use the company of the coolest bloke in the school! It’s way too quiet in this part of the Great Hall!’

Tom should have known that it is impossible to reason with an idiot.

His followers watch the scene unfold before them with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Potter’s intrusion is an open defiance of Tom’s authority at his own House, which is a rare occurrence (the last boy to challenge him mysteriously ended up in the Hospital Wing for months). Potter is, however, a unique (and hopeless) case.

The boy is simply too stupid to understand Slytherin dynamics.

‘Did you already have breakfast, Potter?’ says Abraxas, attempting to make small talk.

‘Yep! I stopped by the Kitchens earlier.’

‘Unaccompanied by your rooster?’ Nott inquires with a smirk. Lestrange sniggers next to him.

‘Nope!’ Potter replies, blissfully unaware of their malicious intent. ‘My friend Hagrid, helpful as always, volunteered to rooster-sit him this morning! Knowing my Cuckoo, he’d jump at the opportunity to shower Riddle with love and kisses (At this, Abraxas Malfoy almost chokes on his tea)… and we wouldn't want that to happen during the Prefect meeting would we?’

'How considerate of you.' Tom says with a sarcastic edge. Potter, oblivious fool, does not catch it.

'Of course!' Potter chirps, giving him a big thumb up. 'I always have my rival's best interest in mind.'

Before he can come up with a passive-aggressive comment, Tom is caught off guard by Potter’s particularly unruly head. Three black strands of hair are pointing in distinct angles, in a very unsubtle fashion. Tom wonders whether Potter even looks at himself in the mirror in the morning. 

‘Is there something on my face, Riddle, or are you hypnotized by my deadly good looks?’ Potter’s grin stretches impossibly wide, snapping Tom out of his thoughts.

‘I can assure you that it is none of the two.’ Tom answers drily.

‘Always so serious, Riddle… makes me want to tease you even more!’ Potter winks at him, leaving Tom, an eloquent speaker by all standards, at complete loss for words.

Several moments pass before Tom regains his composure. By then, Potter is engaging his associates in a heated conversation about flying sloths (which Tom suspects only exist in the realm of Potter’s mind).

Tom drinks his coffee in silence, watching Potter warily from the corner of his eyes.

Though still displeased by Potter’s participation in the Triwizard Tournament, Tom has come to terms with its inevitability. After all, it does not truly matter whether there are three or four Champions in the Tournament, because no matter the number of opponents he is faced with, Tom will emerge as the one and only victor.

Oh, and Tom will be more than just victorious, all right. His opponents’ defeat will be so thorough and absolute that people will fail to remember their names...

Tom will make sure to crush everyone in his way, including – no, _especially_ Potter.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it :3 working on chapter 3 and 4


	3. the Photoshoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance if there are any typos or mistakes... this story is not beta'd.  
> Enjoy!

Tom has a bad feeling about the determined look in Potter’s eyes moments before they enter the Prefects' conference room (the boy insisted on following him throughout breakfast).

Against his better judgement, Tom strides across the room - unaware that Potter is quickly following behind, every step taken perfectly in sync with his - and reaches the podium.

Tom clears his throat. ‘Hello everyone –’

‘ATTENTION EVERYONE!!!’ Potter booms next to him - how on earth did he get so close?! - causing Tom and a few students in the front row to jump from shock. ‘The Head Boy is about to give his SPEECH! You there, Umbridge! No more talking!!! I WANT SILENCE!’

The other Prefects gawk at Potter in utter disbelief.

‘…thank you, Potter.’

Potter’s face lights up like a candle. ‘It’s my biggest and greatest pleasure!’

‘As I was about to say,’ Tom continues, turning away from Potter. ‘I would like to begin the meeting with a warm thank you for the hard work everyone has put in for the Welcome Feast. It was, in every definition of the word, a success.’

‘YEAHHHH!’ Potter fists his right hand into the air. ‘I think a big round of applause is in order, uh-huh, yes?’

Nobody in the assembly room claps their hands except for Potter.

‘Potter,’ Tom says, charismatic mask still locked in place. ‘I am very grateful for your… enthusiasm so early in the morning, but may I please have your permission to run this Prefect meeting?’

‘Oh, why of course!’ Potter says buoyantly. ‘You may have more than just my permission, Riddle. As my rival, you have my acknowledgement and my deepest respect!’

Ah. This is what this whole fiasco is about: Potter’s one-sided rivalry with Tom.

Tom really should have seen this coming, especially after Dumbledore, manipulative bastard, had planted the idea so obviously in Potter’s mind, which is so utterly empty that it has taken up the entire space.

Tom needs to put an end to this nonsense before it gets out of hand – he can well imagine the disastrous possibilities – and remind Potter where he truly stands.

Under Tom’s soles.

He smiles brightly at Potter, all sunshine and dimples. ‘It would be much easier for me to run this session if you were to sit down quietly like the other Prefects, Potter.’

‘Oh – right. Okay, no problem!’ With a flick of his wand, Potter pulls out a chair from a nearby stack and places it next to Tom.

Seeing that Potter is seated, albeit not exactly where he belongs, Tom resumes. ‘Next, I would like to remind everyone that as Prefects, it is our duty to promote an environment of hospitality toward our guests.’

From the corner of his eyes, Tom can see Potter nodding exaggeratedly at the end of each sentence, as if convinced he is given an important role in the meeting. Tom resists the urge to roll his eyes.

‘…since we all agree that an effort should be made to make our guests feel included, does anyone have a suggestion?’

Potter fidgets excitedly in his seat, his feet tapping against the floor in loud bursts of irregular rhythm. ‘Oh! Pick me! Me! Me! Me!’

Tom looks anywhere but in Potter’s direction. He is sourly disappointed when nobody else raises their hands, clearly intimidated by Potter’s intensity.

Tom sighs inwardly. ‘Yes, Potter?’

‘I have a super-duper AWESOME idea!’ Potter booms, nearly causing Tom’s ears to bleed from the auditory assault. ‘We should make a HUGE banquet, where everyone is welcome to bring their own little sweet creations to the table and – and we can all share our secret recipes like a big family –’

‘Potter – ’

‘ – and I, of course, happily volunteer to bring Cuckoo for entertainment purposes – at this point, he’s like a mascot of the school. _Everyone_ likes him –’

‘Potter – ’

‘Oh! and we could even bring his new girlfriend to the party! Cuckoo is a playboy, you see… I dare say he takes after me – ’

‘POTTER!’

Potter finally snaps his jaw shut. 

‘I do not want to hear another word about your aggressive rooster.’ Tom hisses, looming threateningly over the boy. ‘It is out of the question that I let you and your wild pet run amok in front of our guests.’

‘But Riddle, Cuckoo is only 'excited' with you – ’ Potter begins.

‘And there will be no more events.’ Tom cuts in quickly, his tone final. ‘I do not wish to burden our Prefects with additional and unnecessary preparations. With the Triwizard Tournament around the corner, we have more than enough responsibilities in our hands.’

Potter sulks. The others sigh in relief.

The meeting continues.

With Potter’s constant interference, consisting of an agonising stream of ‘Oooooooh’ and ‘Aaaaahhh’ and ‘How about . . . *insert terrible and unrealistic idea*’, it takes much longer to get the normal amount of work done.

The meeting finishes an hour later than usual.

All the Prefects look absolutely drained of energy and motivation as they file out of the room. Tom feels a painful throb in the back of his head that marks the beginning of a headache.

Only Potter, of course, is bouncing with positive energy. ‘That was a fun meeting! I already can't wait for the next one hehe...! So, where shall we go now?’

It is only the beginning of Tom’s longest year at Hogwarts.

*

‘Look, it’s Tom Riddle!’

‘Shhh! He can hear you!’

‘So?’ A dreamy sigh. ‘He’s soooooooo handsome!’

A giggle. ‘Should I ask him out for the Yule Ball?’

‘Oh, dream on!’ a snort. ‘He’s wayyy out of your league.’

‘What about the other one… Potter, was it?’

A pause. ‘He’s a bit… you know.’

The others seem to know exactly what she meant.

‘Frankly, I have no idea why he got chosen as a champion. Potter doesn’t bring much to the table.’

'Right!'

‘He’s not even good-looking!’

A cruel laugh. ‘ _He’_ s out of Riddle’s league.’

A deep wave of satisfaction expands in Tom’s chest upon hearing Potter’s name dragged through the mud by the girls, no matter how silly said girls are.

Tom takes solace in the general dislike of Potter. It is a universally accepted fact that Potter is eccentric, borderline _deranged_. Everyone is well aware of Potter’s lack of common sense, etiquette and well, general intelligence. Everyone except for, of course, Potter himself…

… which is _frustrating,_ to say the least.

Because Tom does not know how to deal with the boy. The other is… delusional, loud, incompetent – the combination of everything Tom stands against, challenging his patience in a way it has never been challenged before. 

Upon entering the Great Hall for supper, Tom’s attention is drawn to a rectangular booth at the center of the Hall. There is a group of students crowded around the table, pushing and brawling and shouting.

How . . . unsightly.

Curious, Tom takes a step toward the booth.

‘Support fer Harry Potter!’ Tom’s eyes immediately snap up to find the Half-Breed shouting at the top of his lungs. ‘Get yer badges of support fer Harry Potter!’

Tom narrows his eyes.

Next to the Half-Breed, a Mudblood – Myrtle Warren, was it? – speaks into an Amplifying charm which carries her insufferable, squeaky voice across the Hall. ‘We want to abolish the misconception that Harry is a mistake. Harry was _chosen_ by the Goblet of Fire.’

‘Hear, hear!’ Hornby, next to her, continued. ‘Line up to get your badge of support! No pushing, please!’

‘Me first!’

‘No, I got here first!’

‘Out of my way!’

Tom frowns. He expects no better of the three bumbling fools that Potter’s strange entourage consists of… but what are the rest of these idiots doing? Who in their right mind would want to support Potter… and fight for it? Were they hit by the Imperius Curse?

Tom shoulders his way past the crowd. His gaze lands on a carton box, in which dozens of neon orange badges are waiting to be distributed.

Someone shouts. ‘Hey you! You have to make the queue!’

Tom ignores him and makes his way to the table. He reaches for one of the badges, ignoring the looks of alarm shot in his way.

_Support Harry Potter, the Chosen One._

The text then morphs into a rooster that bounces up and down in an alarmingly atrocious orange hue. It does not take a genius like Tom to realize that the creature is Potter's hideous rooster.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Tom demands icily.

The Mudblood shrinks submissively into her seat, but her friend, Hornby, stands up righteously.

‘We are the Harry Potter fan club, sir – Riddle!’

Tom’s eyes widen. Surely, he did not mishear. A Harry Potter _fan club_? It is two things that should _never_ be combined – an abomination! 

‘Has it occurred to you three that your… little club is creating a commotion in the Great Hall? As Head Boy, I ask you to clear your kiosk before I confiscate these badges and file a complaint to the teachers.’

The Half-Breed clears his throat uneasily. ‘But Riddle, we already have Professor Dumbledore’s permission ter distribute the badges...’

Tom bites his inner cheek to stop himself from scowling.

 _Of course, of course_ that meddlesome old coot had a hand in this! The other must have _jumped_ at the opportunity to undermine Tom!

The Mudblood speaks up timidly, catching Tom’s attention. ‘Yes, in fact, he… he encouraged us, saying we should always fight for a good cause.’

A _good cause_? That would imply that Tom is _not_ a good cause. Damn Dumbledore and his blatant favoritism! For a few moments, Tom’s mind spins in pure fury.

Only the sight of Eddie Nott’s freckled face amidst the crowd distracts Tom from his inner turmoil. The boy’s cheeks are smeared with a familiar hue of sickly-sweet orange frosting.

When Eddie meets the trail of Tom’s murderous gaze, he splutters. ‘It’s not what you think, my Lo -- Tom!’ he raises his hands in defense. ‘The cookies were very delicious! I – I couldn’t resist!’

Tom’s eyes widen in realization.

Potter’s rooster-shaped cookies.

Ah, yes. Sweets. A very good plan indeed. A perfect bait for the weak-willed and bend them to Potter’s advantage. _Very_ clever. _Too_ clever for the likes of Potter, for sure. Most likely strategic thinking on Hornby’s – a Ravenclaw - part.

Tom has never understood the general population’s fascination with sugar, but then again, there are many other things that he fails to comprehend. Love, for instance. Tom scoffs. How utterly weak one must be to willingly subject oneself to such fragile and pathetic illusions.

Just then, a few groans are voiced around Tom. It seems that the reserve of sweets has run out.

‘Come back with your badges for more! We’re baking batches of sweets all week! Cupcakes, macarons, you name it!’

*

Soon, wherever he goes, Tom can catch the neon orange reflection of Potter’s hideous rooster badges flashing from fluttering robes.

Tempted as he is to deduct 100 House points or hex the idiots into oblivion, Tom is not in a position to act on either of these impulses. He is, after all, the Hogwarts Champion _and_ Head Boy.

He decides to ignore the phenomenon altogether, but that is easier said than done, especially when Potter’s demon rooster parades proudly about the school grounds with a badge of its own pinned magically (with a sticking charm, Tom thinks) to its wattle and constantly surrounded by a circle of giggling girls. 

To make matters even worse, Potter soon appears everywhere Tom goes. Like, _everywhere_.

At the Great Hall.

‘Tis a beautiful day, my rival! Are you done eating? What do you say to a lovely, lovely walk by the Black Lake with me and Cuckoo?’

At the courtyard.

‘Hey Riddle! Fancy going flying with me?’ Potter flashes a cocky smile at him. ‘I know you’re not very good at it so I thought I could show you the ropes! Don’t worry, they say I’m a pretty good teacher.’

At the library.

‘I _knew_ I would find you here, nose buried in a book! What are you reading?’ Potter says in an unnecessarily loud voice, drawing everyone’s attention to them. ‘Aw, don’t be shy… I promise I won’t tell... better not be pornography though!’

These encounters always end up with Tom blatantly ignoring the boy or leaving in a huff, but Potter, the idiot, only seems to take these reactions as an invitation to continue pestering Tom and does not get the hint to _get lost_. Just how _dense_ is the boy?

Even classes are not off limits.

In Transfiguration – Tom’s least favorite class not because of his dislike of the subject but rather his dislike of the meddlesome, insufferable professor teaching it - Potter slides in the seat next to him before Tom can even say _no_. Tom almost considers hexing Potter off his chair but decides against the thought, feeling the familiar weight of Dumbledore’s watchful gaze on him.

Seeing that Tom (seemingly) accepts Potter’s advances, the Transfiguration teacher twinkles at him from the front of the classroom. His aura is practically radiating with approval and warmth.

Tom looks away in a huff. If there is one thing that he despises more than being on the receiving end of Dumbledore’s constant suspicions, it is earning the older man’s approval, which has a mocking, belittling undertone to it that makes his blood boil.

Potter, oblivious to Tom’s endless list of frustrations, gives him a big, toothy smile.

Tom hates it.

*

To Tom’s horror, they soon begin to fall into a routine, which he did not consent to, in which Potter faithfully waits for Tom at the end of each class (even those which are not shared between Gryffindor and Slytherin!) and follows him wherever he goes, like a shadow.

Tom had considered hexing Potter more times than he can count. He had imagined using more than simple hexes on the boy; at the end of each day, Tom would find himself fantasizing about the various ways he can make those annoyingly bright green eyes filled with terror and on the verge of tears, begging Tom to stop.

And Tom would have done it; he would have instilled fear into the boy like he did to countless past enemies, but the inconvenient thing about Potter is that the boy always attracts attention (the wrong kind, of course) wherever he goes.

Loud, obnoxious and Gryffindor to a fault, Potter makes it impossible for Tom to punish him, not when they are under the constant scrutiny of others, what with the Triwizard Tournament labelling them as fellow Champions.

That did not stop Tom from secretly casting wandless Silencing Charms in Potter’s direction (the idiot just won’t _shut up!_ ), but they never seem to work and always bounce off the boy. Tom thinks of dragon scales which have magical properties that deflect spells and considers that maybe Potter’s skin is thick enough to get in the way of conventional magic.

With no other means of escape from Potter, Tom bolts for the door at the end of each class.

*

‘Did I just see Tom Riddle run?’

‘No way!’

‘I saw it too.’

‘Wicked.’

*

‘You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?’

Green eyes look up at Tom, blinking innocently and in confusion, as if not understanding his question. Tom’s nostrils flare with frustration.

He had failed to evade Potter yet again in Potions and Potter proved to be the worst potioneer ever, never following the instructions and always adding everything in the wrong order. If Tom did not know better, he would suspect that Potter is intentionally messing up – but no, it seems that Potter is just that stupid.

Slughorn’s looks of sympathy thrown in his direction are of little consolation.

‘Forget what I said,’ Tom snaps irritably and snatches the ingredients from Potter’s incompetent hands.

‘Hey! I want to help!’

Tom rolls his eyes. ‘I can brew this perfectly without your input. _Especially_ without your input.’

'I am honored that you take our rivalry so seriously, Riddle,’ Potter says, delusional as always. ‘but this is a teamwork! Even Sluggy said so!'

Tom scoffs. As if someone like Tom would ever acknowledge Potter as his rival! There is no point in arguing with the idiot.

‘You are... _distracting_. If you truly want to contribute, go to a corner of the classroom and shut your mouth. Preferably facing the wall.’

Potter folds his arms. 'That's not fair! We're supposed to be the ultimate, unbeatable team. You're ruining our perfect image!'

Tom raises his brow. Potter does not know the first thing about perfect images.

‘That's rich coming from you.' Tom said softly, earning a confused frown from Potter. 'Oh, while we're on the subject of perfect images, let me remind you that our photoshoot is coming soon. Now, I know it’s your specialty to be as unpunctual as possible - ’

‘The photoshoot?’

Tom scowls. ‘Were you even paying attention to what Professor Dippet said during the Champion meeting?’

Potter’s eyes light up in realization. ‘Oh yeah, I remember! It’s on Sunday, right?’

‘No! it’s on Saturday!’

‘Oh, oops.’

'Saturday.' Tom rounds on Potter. ‘and don’t you dare forget it. I will not allow you to ruin that day for me by not showing up!’

Potter grins at him. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

For a split second, a mischievous light manifests itself in those impossibly bright eyes, elusive and playful and gone in the next second – had it been Tom’s imagination?

Tom narrows his eyes to slits.

It is difficult to understand what is truly going on in Potter’s head. At times like this, Tom finds himself reluctantly fascinated by the boy’s mind, not unlike a psychiatrist intrigued by a particularly slow patient.

‘Saturday, 8am sharp.’ Tom says. ‘Don’t arrive late and don’t even think of showing up to the photoshoot with your head looking like a bird – ’

Tom pauses in mid-sentence. On second thought, Potter’s poor appearance can work to his advantage. Having emerged at the top of Slytherin’s hierarchy after years of hard work and scheming, Tom knows just how important first impressions are. What better opportunity to demonstrate the sharp contrast in quality between himself and Potter than the photoshoot? Potter’s lack of proper grooming has never been more welcome.

‘Were you about to say something, Riddle?’

Tom starts chopping the ingredients with a newfound resolve.

‘Helloooooo?’

Back to ignoring Potter.

*

Saturday rolls around.

The Daily Prophet journalist, Remy Cooper, is a voluptuous red-haired woman approaching her mid-thirties. She enters the circular dramatically and announces in a sensual, alto voice. ‘Champions! It is time to take a fabulous picture! Today, the spotlight... is yours!’

Tom is ready to put on his best smile for the camera, ready to charm the world. He knows for a fact that he is the most handsome in the room. It will only be too easy to outshine the other Champions and earn Britain’s undivided attention.

Wagner and Beauregard are asked to sit on stools facing the cameraman. Behind them, Tom and Potter - who, to his credit, arrived perfectly on time for the photoshoot - are standing side by side, representing Hogwarts together.

The journalist circles the Champions like a vulture, studying them with hungry eyes. She observes Wagner and Beauchamp with mild curiosity, but when her gaze meets Tom’s, she gives away a gasp of delight.

‘Oh my, so handsome!’ she winks flirtatiously, cupping his cheek and for a brief second, Tom smells a disgusting infusion of perfume. ‘You will become a favorite among our female readers, no doubt of it!’

Tom smiles angelically at her. He already knows that she will be easy to charm, like most people he encountered in his life, with the exceptions being Dumbledore and, strangely enough… Potter.

Potter is remarkably immune – or perhaps oblivious is the proper word – to Tom’s charms and threats alike, which makes him an element of chaos, impossible to manipulate or predict.

Tom casts a sideway glance at the boy, who looks particularly dishevelled today, possibly due to waking up early on a Saturday morning considering how lazy Potter is. For once, Tom relishes in Potter's lack of effort when it comes to physical appearance (but that does not mean that Tom is less disgusted by it).

When Remy Cooper walks past Potter, her eyes stare in absolute disbelief at his hair. ‘That’s quite the bed head you’ve got there, dear.’

Potter scratches the back of his hair sheepishly (which is counterproductive as a few strands shoot up in response). ‘I’ve been told so many times, ma’am… hehe.’

She shook her head. ‘That won’t do. Mr. Douglas, please fix his hair!’

Mr. Douglas, the photographer, materializes a comb and rearranges a particularly stubborn lock of hair on Potter’s head.

It falls back to its original place.

The comb works through Potter’s hair again.

This time, Potter’s hair protrudes at a different angle.

This cycle repeats many times and a few painful moments pass in utter silence, in which everyone’s attention is fixed on the battle between Douglas’ comb and Potter’s rebellious hair. Before long Tom begins to lose his patience.

‘In my entire career, I’ve never witnessed such stubborn hair!’ Douglas exclaims in defeat, breaking the silence at last.

‘Tell me about it.’ Potter says, grinning for no intelligible reason. ‘Even my Father’s Sleakeazy’s Hair Potion is helpless when it comes taming my hair.’

‘You’re Fleamont Potter’s boy?’ the journalist asks, interest piqued.

Potter nods.

The woman considers this for a moment. ‘Well, if that is the case, I’m afraid there is truly no hope. Let’s move on to the photoshoot!’

It turns out that Douglas’ attempts at taming Potter’s wild hair end up backfiring... at _Tom._

The three stubborn strands of hair at the top of Potter’s head are pointing directly at Tom’s face, as if intentionally mocking him.

When Tom attempts to shift away from the boy, the photographer will have none of it: ‘Closer boys! I want you two lads nice and intimate in the pictures. Gives off an amicable image, yeah?’

Tom clenches his jaw at ‘intimate’, the last word he would use to describe his rapport with Potter. And the mere thought of having Potter’s unruly hair projecting into his face in the pictures _infuriates_ him…

Following Douglas’ order, Potter inches closer to him. Before long, Tom can feel the spiky tips of Potter’s hair tickling his left cheek...

Something snaps in the back of Tom’s mind. ‘Has it ever occurred to you that you might need a haircut, Potter?’

‘Oh, Riddle…’ Potter looks up at him with fluttering lashes. ‘are you concerned for me? I’m… _touched_.’

Tom represses an urge to strangle the boy - ugh! ‘Do you realize how important this photoshoot is, Potter?’

‘I think it’s unnecessary.’ The boy shrugs, looking unimpressed. ‘They could have just plastered school pictures of us on the front pages, you know.’ A yawn. ‘I’d rather sleep in on a fine Saturday morning like this, if you ask me.’

Tom rolls his eyes. ‘I am not foolish enough to expect you to understand the opportunities offered by the media, which you are clearly wasting, but I was hoping that you would at least make yourself... _presentable_ to the general public.’

Potter smiles brightly at him. ‘Look, Riddle, I truly appreciate your concern for me but - ’

‘What I’m saying, Potter,’ he says through gritted teeth, cutting the shorter boy off because there is not a lick of truth in what Potter is saying; Tom couldn’t care less about Potter’s appearance. Not unless it affects Tom’s. ‘is that you should pay more attention to your appearance, especially when it matters. Frankly, you look like you just rolled out of bed.’

‘Okay, pretty boy.’ Potter quips, clearly not taking Tom’s words to heart. ‘Duly noted! But just saying, Riddle, not everyone can be as nitpicky as you!’

Tom does not appreciate being called a _pretty boy_ , especially not from someone like Potter, nor does he particularly like being accused of being _nitpick_ _y_. He simply values perfection, something Potter would never understand.

‘I am not joking, Potter.’

‘I know,’ the other boy says matter-of-factly. ‘You never joke. Or laugh. Come to think of it, you don’t really have a sense of humour, do you?’

‘Potter, I am serious.’ Tom hisses with a threatening edge to his voice. A tone which intimidates his followers into silence, but proves to be ineffective with Potter, whose sense of self-preservation is inexistent. ‘I couldn’t care less about your… _rowdy_ demeanour at school, but when it comes to important social events like these, first impressions –’

Potter suddenly leans dangerously close to inspect something on Tom’s face. Tom freezes, his words dying on his tongue. Their faces are inches away, so close that Tom can smell the sweet treacle tart Potter ate this morning and make out the glittering prisms in Potter’s unnaturally green irises, sparkling like rare emerald gems. They are, admittedly, very pleasant. So unlike the rest of Potter.

Then:

‘Perk up, Tommy boy! If you keep frowning at every itty-bitty detail, wrinkles are going to settle in between your brows before you know it!’

For a moment, Tom sees red.

 _Nobody_ calls him Tommy boy. Tom rarely even lets his own followers address him by his first name. Potter is –

Just then, a series of bright lights blind him.

*

Tom _knows_ that the pictures will turn out horribly.

He is going to _kill_ Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since we've seen a Cuckoo vs. Tom scene.. I promise there will be a comeback in next chapter!


	4. An interview (or two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologize for the delay... I went through what was probably the most intense semester I had so far, and inspiration is scarce when I am under stress... I am hopeful that my next update won't take 3 months again, but then again there's no guarantee with these things. 
> 
> If you notice an improvement in writing quality, it is thanks to my friend and beta, who I am super thankful for ! 😍😍😍 I am also editing the earlier chapters for a better reading experience, so some things may seem a bit different, but nothing major.
> 
> Anyway, here's chapter 4, glad you are still with me and hope you enjoy it! 😊

‘Tom -- may I call you Tom?’

‘You may call me however you like, Miss Cooper.’ Tom drawls silkily.

The journalist practically beams at him, easily charmed. ‘Very well, Tom. Shall we begin?’

‘Whenever you are ready, miss.’

Tom offers her an easy, dimpled smile. The boyish kind of grin that women of Cooper’s age _melt_ for.

This is, after all, Tom’s only chance at amending his situation.

Following the fiasco of the photoshoot, Tom was certain that his chances at impressing the wizarding community were irrevocably ruined (courtesy of Harry Potter, of course).

Tom was deep in thought, plotting Potter’s mysterious death, when he was approached by the journalist in the hallways, asking for a chance to ‘get to know him better’. Never one to pass up an opportunity when he saw one, Tom eagerly accepted her offer. He was shortly led into an empty, unused classroom where their interview is now taking place.

‘Very well.’ She says, crossing a leg over the other before setting her notepad on her lap. Quill at the ready. ‘Tell us why you decided to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, Tom.’

Eloquent speeches and answers have always come very easily to Tom. The tricky part, however, is to sound genuine when playing the sentimental card, but Tom learned that very quickly too.

‘It is my humble ambition to win the Triwizard Cup as an expression of my gratitude for my school, Hogwarts,’ Tom says effortlessly. ‘which I have come to think of as my home.’

Part of which is true; Hogwarts _is_ his home and always will be, if his future plans come to fruition.

‘Very touching,’ Remy Cooper comments, smiling back at him. ‘Speaking of home, it has come to my knowledge that you come from a Muggle orphanage. Has this given you any difficulties throughout your time at Hogwarts?’

In other words, was Tom discriminated against for being a _Mudblood_ , especially in his own House, known to hold blood prejudices?

Oh, she truly has no idea who she is talking to, does she?

He twirls his ring playfully around his finger - the _Gaunt_ ring, a reminder of his ancient, noble heritage - and considers his next words carefully.

‘On the contrary,’ Tom begins in a soft, sultry voice. ‘being an orphan encouraged me to overcome various challenges from a very young age. While they certainly have put me through difficulties, many of these experiences have helped me excel in the competitive environment of Hogwarts and shape me into the person I am today.’

‘Excellent, Tom. Thank you.’ Remy Cooper paused to scribble down into her notepad. ‘Now, let’s move on to the next question…’

*

His interview was a success.

Tom answered all of the woman’s questions articulately. He worded his responses carefully, strategically, politely, the epitome of a bright, handsome boy with a promising future.

First impressions can be challenging. In Tom’s experience and after years of keen observation in the House of snakes, it is important to make a memorable impression, but that is without imposing oneself to the audience lest it backfires.

Tom was careful to be vague enough, allowing him to fill in the blanks in the future with far more impressionable speeches. Speeches which will be aimed at the subset of the population that Tom truly wishes to appeal to . . .

The Triwizard Tournament will open many, many doors for Tom. 

Potter, however, is a bigger thorn at his side than Tom had expected.

His veins turn into ice as he repeats the scene in his mind. 

Always trust the boy’s impertinence to manifest itself in the most _inconvenient_ and _catastrophic_ manner possible… Tom is immediately reminded of his Fifth and Sixth Years, of the numerous times when Potter sabotaged Tom’s plans with his seemingly harmless antics.

Unacceptable.

Admittedly, Tom could have simply ignored the boy - who is well beneath his notice, anyway - but _something_ about Potter always pulls on Tom’s nerves until they _snap._

Tom supposes that Dumbledore may be right about _one_ thing, after all: their fundamental personalities clash. For Potter represents everything that Tom is _not_ : lazy, incompetent, arrogant, ignorant – _privileged,_ undeservingly so. The boy is like a rock in his shoe, impossible to ignore no matter how long it has been there.

Regardless, Tom cannot allow a second slip-up in the public’s eye. There will be grave, incorrigible consequences this early in the game, something which Tom simply _cannot_ afford, and Salazar knows that he won’t be this lucky next time.

But, what to do with Potter . . . 

Tom sighs.

The root of all his problems can really be traced to one simple, but tricky question:

_How does a highly intelligent individual handle an astonishingly stupid person?_

Tom wished he knew the answer to that.

*

‘…what is this?’

When Tom returned to the Dungeons, he came across his associates huddled in a small corner of the Common Room, giggling, silly wand flourishing and looking distinctively up to no good. Upon closer inspection, they seemed to be crouching over shiny, circular objects that reminded Tom alarmingly of Potter’s badges.

Tom’s previous experience with the trinkets prompted him to be on his guard.

‘This,’ Eddie Nott whirls around and points to the green badge neatly pinned to his chest. ‘Is the fruit of our hard work and undying loyalty to our Lord!’

In an elegant silver scrawl, the badge reads:

_Support Tom Riddle, the REAL Hogwarts Champion._

How… interesting.

‘There is no way we’ll let the likes of _Potter_ steal the spotlight which belongs to our Lord.’ Abraxas Malfoy announces proudly, his chess puffing out slightly (to Tom’s amusement). ‘We, ever your devoted followers, took matters into our own hands.’

‘We’ll distribute the badges in the Common Room once we’re done experimenting with them. The entire House is, after all, loyal to you.’ Eddie says.

‘There is no need to worry about getting into trouble.’ Maxim Lestrange chimes in, mistaking Tom’s lack of response for skepticism. ‘We’ve got Sluggy’s backing in this. Now that I think about it, the man pretty much came up with the idea himself!’

‘Slughorn was certainly eager to refer us to a list of badge manufacturers!’ adds Emmanuel Rosier, shoving a half-crumpled, 6-foot-long parchment in front of Tom’s face.

‘…’

‘And look! We added some _really_ amazing features using animation charms!’ Eddie presses his index against the badge with childish delight. ‘Thought you might like it!’

The badge morphs into something far less… refined. 

The words ‘ _POTTER STINKS!_ ’ is displayed in big, bold capital letters in a handwriting that is far too untidy for Tom’s taste. The vomit-green letters contrast unflatteringly with the bright red background, enough to account for his eyes’ discomfort. What’s more, there are cartoon-like squiggles radiating from the untidy scrawl to emphasize the statement. All of which makes the badge look excessively clustered, loud and unpleasant _._

And yet, Tom couldn’t think of a better way to represent the strange entity that is Harry Potter.

His followers may have outdone themselves.

‘What do you think, m’lord?’ Eddie Nott’s eyes look up at Tom expectantly. 

There is an underlying look of _fear_ in those blue eyes - _as there should be_ , Tom thinks _-_ remnant from their previous encounter in the Great Hall. Tom is, however, in an exceptionally generous mood this afternoon…

‘If anyone asks,’ Tom begins in a soft, barely audible tone. His followers lean toward him, catching every word coming out of their Lord’s lips. ‘I have nothing to do with this.’

Eddie’s freckled face immediately stretches into a smirk, recognizing success when he sees it.

‘Of course, m’lord!’

*

Sunday is by far Tom’s favorite day of the week, but for entirely different reasons than the average Hogwarts student.

Yes, even Tom can occasionally appreciate a break from NEWTs, tedious Head Boy duties and Champion meetings. However, it is what all of these three things together amount to which truly matters, and this can be summarized in three simple, but impactful words:

_No Harry Potter._

For Potter is the _bane_ of Tom’s existence. Impossible to shake off, just like a permanent sticking charm. An endless source of stress, worry and impending doom - a living, _breathing_ ticking bomb - putting Tom on edge and in a constant state of tension.

_Not today_ , Tom tells himself, rising from his four-poster bed like a Phoenix from the ashes.

Today is going to be a _glorious_ day.

Tom will make sure of it.

*

At 8am sharp, Tom makes his way to the Great Hall with the prior knowledge that Potter rises at 10 on the weekend (a piece of intelligence provided by his spies in Gryffindor Tower).

Tom is greeted by the familiar sight of Abraxas and Eddie at the Slytherin table, insomniacs who have the habit of waking disgustingly early in the morning. 

As if on cue, the morning post sweeps the Great Hall with hooting and rustling papers.

Tom wastes no time to inspect the front page of the Daily Prophet. 

To Tom’s greatest relief, the picture accompanying the main article turns out to be half-decent. True, Potter’s three strands of wild hair are invading Tom’s personal space and Tom’s posture may appear too stiff to look natural, but it is nothing compared to the disaster that Tom had feared.

Interestingly, there is only a single mention of Beauchamp and Wagner in the main article. Tom is not surprised that the remaining text is dedicated to Hogwarts and its champions, given the unprecedented element of surprise of two nominations.

‘ _Wow_ !’ exclaims Eddie in amazement, elbowing Tom’s ribs, nose still buried in his own copy of the Daily Prophet. ‘What in Salazar’s name did you do to secure a one-on-one interview with _Remy Cooper_ ? _’_ He then pops his head out the journal to leer at Tom. ‘Teach me your ways, oh wise one! _’_

Tom shoots a glare in the boy’s direction, which effectively shuts him up.

Yet, a small, secretive smile of his own finds its way to Tom’s lips.

There is an entire article dedicated to _Tom._

Tom allows the thought to sink in. Again and again and again. A warm, tight and tingling sensation grows in his chest. Tom decides that it is a feeling that he doesn’t mind getting used to.

What Tom did not foresee, however, is that Potter _also_ received an interview from Remy Cooper. Which Tom _should_ have expected, he supposes, as it would reflect badly on the British newspaper not to include the _other_ Hogwarts Champion.

It also doesn’t matter.

Because _this --_ the proof of Tom’s undeniable intelligence and well-spokenness, the product of a persona Tom has built after years of hard work and cunningness -- is something that Potter can _never_ take away from him, even if he wanted to. In fact, Potter probably did Tom a favor and unwittingly made a fool of himself in his own interview.

With this thought in mind, Tom flips to his article and starts reading, devouring every printed letter with hungry, triumphant eyes.

Just like Tom said. Today is going to be a _glorious_ day. 

*

It’s happening again. 

Tom looks up for the fourth time that morning to find a group of girls - from Beauxbatons, this time - giggling and throwing him unsubtle looks from across the corridor.

Far from the average, easily flustered teenage boy, Tom flashes a well-practised smile at them, and this somehow makes them giggle even harder.

Which is not unusual. Tom is aware of the attention he attracts from the fairer sex.

Today, however, is a different story.

It is one thing to be known as a handsome, intelligent Hogwarts student and another to grace the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Tom knows for a fact that sooner or later, these giggles and unsubtle glances will be turned into invitations to the Yule Ball and Tom will easily have the pick of the litter.

Tom’s thoughts are interrupted as he is ambushed by yet another group of girls – Gryffindors.

‘Good morning, Tom,’ says the boldest one of them. Michelle Wakefield, if Tom’s memory serves, which, as it happens, always does.

What Tom also remembers, is that the two of them have never spoken outside of their Slytherin-Gryffindor joint classes, let alone speak on a first name basis, but Tom is not so tactless as to point that out.

He plasters a polite smile on his face, ever the kind, considerate Head Boy. ‘Good morning, Miss Wakefield. How may I help you?’

Another fit of giggles.

‘I just wanted you to know,’ says Michelle Wakefield, barely suppressing a laugh herself. ‘that I think that you are _very, very_ impressive. You should be proud.’

‘Why, thank you for your kind words.’

‘Oh, anytime, Tom. You know, if you ever want to talk about something - _anything_ \- you can always come to me.’ she then _winks_ at Tom before walking away, followed by her swarm of giggling girlfriends.

… what was that. 

Tom stares at her retreating figure for several moments, their high-pitched laughter still ringing in his ears. There is something about the girls’ behavior, something he cannot quite put a finger on, which reminds him of -- 

‘Well, well, well! If it isn’t Tom Marvolo Riddle! Just the man I was looking for!’

Tom’s body stiffens instantly before his mind can even process the voice. Then, a hand comes clamping down on Tom’s shoulder.

‘Looking sharp as always, eh?’ Potter says, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. Ugh. ‘As expected of someone I’d call my rival!’

Tom shoots an unimpressed glance at the boy’s perpetually disorderly hair. ‘... I wish I could say the same to you, Potter.’

The other nods thoughtfully at this, but Tom can tell that not a single word has penetrated that thick skull of his. Another infuriating fact about Potter - and ignorant people, in general - is that he only listens to what he wants to hear. 

That, or he is too stupid. It’s always difficult to tell with Potter.

‘So, I imagine you have read the papers?’ Potter asks, puffing out his chest slightly. 

‘Of course.’ Tom responds, barely repressing a scoff and lengthening his strides.

‘Merlin! I never thought being on the front page could be _this_ amazing! It’s like - it’s almost like we’re _celebrities_!’ the other gushes, easily keeping up with Tom’s pace and flailing his arms around him wildly. ‘I mean, look at the sheer amount of attention we’re getting right now!’

Sure enough, at least a dozen pairs of eyes are staring at them with poorly concealed interest. Which has much more to do with Potter’s loud, erratic behavior than their newfound celebrity status.

‘Anyway, where are you heading in such a hurry?' 

‘The Dungeons.’

‘Isn’t that in the opposite direction?’

‘I am taking a detour.’

‘A detour! Ahh, I love detours! Mind if I tag along this thrilling adventure of yours?' 

Why does _everything_ have to be an adventure for Potter?

‘Not in a talkative mood, are we?’

‘Potter.’ Tom draws a deep, stabilizing intake of breath, feeling his patience thinning by the second. ‘Is there something you need from me? If not, then I would appreciate some… time for myself. It has been an intense week for me. I hope you can understand.’

. . . which, surprisingly, is an entirely true statement considering how often Tom lies straight to the Gryffindor’s face.

‘Ah. I _completely_ understand. I also have moments when I wish people could stop, you know, fussing over me. I don’t want to brag, but there is a pretty big fan club dedicated to me, so trust me, Riddle, I _understand_.’

_‘...’_

‘Which is why I believe I have the perfect thing for you!’ Potter rummages through his pockets, which are filled with half-eaten cookies, scrap papers and – is that a Muggle magic trick set? ‘A-ha! There it is!’

Potter shoves an extremely flashy card into Tom’s face, displaying – how surprising – a cartoon drawing of a rooster wrapping a wing cheekily around a hen, winking. The text bubble above them reads:

_The Harry Potter fan club invites you to a tea party!_

‘You, Tom Riddle, have the privilege of being invited to a special, very, very exclusive tea party this afternoon from the guest-of-honor himself!’ Potter winks at him. ‘I can assure you that we have the finest drinks and desserts in the entire castle, which will wash your worries and anxiety away. Not to mention that Cuckoo and his – '

‘How unfortunate.’ Tom says, cutting the other off and dismissing the flashy card. ‘I have already made plans this afternoon with my associates. Perhaps next time.’ To his relief, they arrive at the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. ‘Now, if you'll excuse me, Potter.’

‘Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know!’ Potter calls after him.

*

It is not a widely known fact that Tom’s idea of a perfect Sunday afternoon is to stay holed up in the Slytherin Dorms where he can read to his heart’s content, _undisturbed._ The select few who _are_ aware of this - those fortunate enough to be in his inner circle - know only too well how little tolerance Tom has for unnecessary interruptions at this time.

Abraxas - the most articulate among Tom’s followers, and therefore their spokesman - clears his throat nervously. ‘My lord.’ 

Tom looks up from the thick book on his lap - plucked from the Restricted Section and specializing in slow-acting, delayed curses - to narrow his eyes at his followers. 

He had not missed the rather intense looks exchanged between them all afternoon. Tom simply did not care enough to point it out.

‘My lord,’ Abraxas repeats. ‘I know this may come across as an intrusive question but have you by chance read Potter’s interview? I believe it is featured in the Daily Prophet.’

‘I am well aware that Potter has been given an interview.’ Tom says in a dangerously soft voice. ‘What I fail to understand, Abraxas, is why I should waste my time reading the nonsense that Potter spouts to the Daily Prophet.’

‘Fair enough… fair enough . . .’

His associates share a weak, defeated look.

Tom rolls his eyes. Pathetic. To think that his followers - the future elites of Britain - have nothing better to do with their time than reading _Potter’s_ article and discussing its contents or its lack thereof . . . Tom is utterly unimpressed.

‘With all due respect, my Lord, I think you should still read it.’ Maxim says, looking highly uncomfortable. ‘It’s quite . . .’ he trails off, unable to put a word on it.

‘Are you telling _me_ what to do with _my_ time, Maxim?’

‘I wouldn’t dare, my Lord.’ the other says, looking very pale. ‘I am simply offering my very humble opinion.’

Tom narrows his eyes to slits.

Letting out a huff, he snatches the Daily Prophet from Eddie’s hands, ignoring the boy’s yelp of surprise.

He flips to page 5 and starts reading.

> **_Interview with Harry Potter, a Hogwarts Champion_ **
> 
> **_by Remy Cooper_ **
> 
> _November 10, 1944_
> 
> _Daily Prophet: Hello Harry, thank you for taking the time to meet with us today._
> 
> _Harry Potter: Trust me, the pleasure is all mine!_
> 
> _Daily Prophet: I can see that we are joined by an unexpected guest._ _Who do we have here?_
> 
> _Harry Potter: Glad you noticed! This is Cuckoo, my special little buddy! He tends to get lonely on his own so I let him tag along!_

Tom’s right eye twitches at the mention of the bloody rooster. Even worse, the sound of a small voice makes itself known in the back of his head, one which sounds alarmingly like Potter’s, growing louder and louder as he progresses through the boy’s interview, infecting Tom’s mind . . .

Tom shakes his head, as if trying to dispel Potter’s unwanted presence from his mind, but Potter’s voice persists and this time, it is accompanied by vivid images of the boy’s flamboyant hand gestures and vibrant green eyes.

Annoyed, Tom is tempted to stop reading altogether. That is, until his attention is caught by his name further down the column . . .

> _Daily Prophet: What are your thoughts on Tom Riddle, a fellow Hogwarts student and now, a fellow Champion?_
> 
> _Harry Potter: I like him a lot! He’s smart and handsome and he’s got a lot of guts. I respect that._
> 
> _Daily Prophet: We have heard many accounts of Tom Riddle’s excellence in various subjects. How do you feel about competing against him in the upcoming Tasks?_
> 
> _Harry Potter: Oh, I'm definitely looking forward to it!_
> 
> _Daily Prophet: You seem very confident in yourself._
> 
> _Harry Potter: Well, yeah. That, and Riddle and I have always had this very complicated thing going on... I suppose you can call us rivals... but that’s putting it simply, really. Honestly, it’s as if the Triwizard Tournament wants us to settle a score!_
> 
> _Daily Prophet: Is that so? Please elaborate on your relationship with Tom Riddle._
> 
> _Harry Potter: Hm… how should I put it… Tom Riddle is like the ice prince of Slytherin whereas I’m that easy going Gryffindor bloke who melts everyone’s heart. Get the picture? We are like polar opposites, two sides of a coin that cannot get close, nor completely ignore each other!_
> 
> _Daily Prophet: You certainly seem to share a very special relationship. It is curious why Tom Riddle did not mention it in his interview._
> 
> _Harry Potter: I wouldn’t be surprised. For a well-spoken guy, Riddle sure is tight-lipped when it comes to discussing personal matters and feelings._ _Between you and me, I reckon he’s too uptight and serious most of the time and thinks too highly about what others think of him. A true pity._
> 
> _Daily Prophet: How… interesting. That’s a very different side of Tom Riddle you’re shedding light on._
> 
> _Harry Potter: Indeed, but fret not. Riddle may like to put up a front, but I happen to know that he’s all soft and mellow on the inside… like a turtle! Which is why Cuckoo and I are on a constant mission to make Riddle come out of his shell - er, no pun intended!_
> 
> Daily Prophet: _Well,_ _it looks like our time is up. We had a very insightful conversation, Harry, and we hope to see you soon next time._
> 
> _Harry Potter: Likewise. Thank you for having me and Cuckoo! Cuckoo, where are your manners? Say thanks!_
> 
> _Cuckoo: caw!_

'- alright, m’lord – _Tom_?'

In an explosion of rage, Tom crumbles the newspaper and tosses it into the fireplace in an almost Muggle fashion, snarling. He glares with passion as the journal gets consumed by the flames, turning into ash.

‘ _Nooo_! I didn’t read my horoscope yet!’

*

‘I would like to see Potter.' 

‘Like I said, Riddle, you need a letter of invitation.’ Hornby says curtly, blocking the entrance like a guard dog. ‘This is an _exclusive_ event hosted by the Harry Potter club.’

‘I am not here for the party, Hornby.’ Tom forces a humorless smile. ‘I simply wish to talk to Potter.’

Hornby eyes him warily, as if _Tom_ is the one being unreasonable. ‘No invitation, no entry. That’s the way it is, Riddle. It’s even written in our club policies.’

Since when did people dismiss Tom like this?

Tom blames Potter, whose impertinence is spreading like a pandemic throughout the castle. The formation of the - dare he say it? - _Harry Potter fan club_ is proof of this!

‘You misunderstand me, Hornby.’ Tom says with well-practised self-control. ‘I am simply asking you to fetch Potter for me. It won’t take much of your time. Or his, I promise.’ 

Hornby looks unapologetic. ‘I’m afraid I must refuse your request, Riddle. I do not know if you are aware of this, but this is a very important moment for Harry. Are you sure this is urgent?’ 

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Olive, who are you talking to? I heard my name!’ Potter’s head pops out of the door. ‘Oh – _helloooo_ there!’

‘Potter.’ Tom glares.

‘Fancy seeing you here! Had a feeling that you might pop up and my intuition never lets me down! Well, why are you still standing there? Come on in!’

‘Harry, are you sure about – ’

‘Fret not, Olive.’ Potter holds up a hand. ‘I can assure you that Tom and I are close enough to overlook these formalities.’

Tom wants to argue that they are _nowhere_ near close enough to be on a first name basis but decides to go along with Potter . . . for now.

‘With that sorted out, is there anything else to report?’ Potter inquires, with an air of authority that looks ridiculous on him.

Hornby shakes her head.

‘Very well. Keep up the good work, Olive!’

Before Tom can even open his mouth to protest, Potter’s arm links around his (ugh!), dragging him across the threshold of the entrance. ‘Come on! The party’s about to begin! Besides, Cuckoo’s girlfriend is about to lay eggs and I’m sure you don’t want to miss _that_!’

‘Potter –'

‘Merlin, I’m getting nervous . . . What if the eggs are _fertilized_? I wouldn’t be surprised, knowing Cuckoo’s proclivities . . . I’m not sure if I’m ready to become an uncle yet . . . ’

‘Potter, I am not here to –’ 

‘Anyway, I got us VIP spots. You know, for _very_ important people.’ Potter says, emphasizing each word as if doing so would make him sound smarter. ‘Ah, here we are! Why don’t you take a seat first? I’ll go get us some refreshments!’

And the boy is gone, releasing Tom from his vice-like grip and leaving him in a decrepit chair that is overcrowded by the Half-Giant next to him (so much for VIP seats). There is a quiet litany coming out of his neighbor’s mouth and Tom decides to ignore him.

Leaving Tom to take in his surroundings.

One glance around him and Tom can feel the blood drain from his face; the sight that welcomes him is the making of Tom’s worst nightmare.

Everywhere Tom looks, there are desserts floating in the air, painting the room in a splash of obnoxiously bright colors. There are at least 20 varieties of sweets from what he can tell, saturating the air with a cacophony of overly sweet flavours. Tom’s nose wrinkles in pure disgust.

To Tom’s surprise, the attendance is . . . impressive. There is a good number of Beauxbatons students gossiping in French, who are followed quite closely by a small group of leering Durmstrang students. . . Tom can identify many Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students mingling about the room and even a handful of Slytherins. Tom pauses to commit the faces to memory, categorizing them in a special mental compartment reserved for traitors.

It does not help that they are all wearing ridiculously bright dress robes - neon orange, blazing fuschia, flashing yellow - making Tom’s eyes twitch in pain and that they look _too_ happy, giggling and chanting and dancing. All of which makes Tom feel distinctively out of place. 

What truly catches Tom’s attention, however, is that the chairs are organized in an eerily perfect circle and that at the very center of it stands an Ancient Greek pedestal that is at least 10-feet tall. Upon which are adjusted two expensive-looking chicken nest boxes, wherin Potter’s stupid rooster and its female mate are comfortably seated - far more comfortably than Tom, that’s for sure.

 _It is almost like a cult_ , Tom thinks and decides on second thought that it is almost too fitting: A _demon_ rooster that is practically worshipped by all those in attendance, looking down judgmentally at them from its pedestal - as if they are mere _peasants_ \- with its evil, bead-like eyes . . .

It is unsettling, to say the least.

Tom snaps out of his thoughts when Potter returns with butterbeer in one hand and a plate of assorted desserts in the other. Rooster-themed, just like Tom predicted.

‘Potter,’ Tom says, going straight to the point. ‘I would like to discuss your interview with the Daily Prophet.’ 

‘The one with the lovely Remy Cooper?’

‘Yes, that one.’

‘So you agree that she is lovely?’ 

‘I. don’t. care.’ Tom hisses. ‘What I would like is an explanation for this unacceptable _conspiracy_ that you are feeding to the Daily - ’

_SLUUUUUUUUUUUURP!_

‘Sorry, what did you say? Didn’t catch it.’ Potter says after taking the _loudest_ and _longest_ sip Tom has ever heard in his entire life - beating even Dumbledore, who Tom strongly suspects does that purely to wind him up during Tom’s visits to his office - and proceeds to wiping his lips sloppily on his sleeve.

Tom stares, scandalized. Potter comes from a _Pureblood_ wizarding family. To say that the Potters failed at teaching their son proper etiquette is an understatement.

‘I said - '

_SLUUUUUUUUUUUURP!_

‘Can you stop doing that?’ Tom snaps.

‘Doing what?’

‘Drinking from your glass like a - !’

Without warning, the half-giant twists around his seat and shoves his large head inches away from Tom’s, pressing a thick, sausage-like finger to his lips. 

Tom freezes in shock.

Next thing he knows, spit is flying in all directions. ‘ _SHHHHHHH!!!_ QUIET! MIMI IS UNDER A LOT OF STRESS RIGH' NOW! THIS AIN'T MUCH DIFFERENT FROM GIVIN' BIRTH, DIDN'T YE KNOW?!' 

The sheer _audacity_ of the Half-Breed to lecture and silence – 

‘Ah, you’ll have to forgive him.’ Potter whispers to Tom after the Half-Breed turns away from them. ‘Hagrid -- bless his gentle soul - is very protective of creatures, magical or not. He’s a bit of a mother hen himself, actually - pun intended, haha! Now, how about a cookie to lift your spirits?’

‘Get that away from me, Potter.’

‘A cupcake, perhaps?’

‘ _No_.’ 

‘Fine, more sweets for me then! Ah, this one’s my favorite!’

Tom glares as Potter stuffs the entire cupcake into his mouth and closes his eyes with an expression of pure bliss. 

The sound that escapes Potter’ lips is somehow far, _far_ more terrible than the Half-Breed’s outburst.

Potter is literally _moaning_ . Low, guttural sounds that are entirely inappropriate and absolutely _obscene. . ._ eyes rolling in the back of his head, displaying white . . . plump, still-wet lips parting slightly, panting –

Against his will, Tom’s brilliant, but overactive imagination conjures a vivid, unsolicited image of Potter doing something _unspeakable . . ._ something Tom will spend the rest of the day trying to obliterate from his memory or his psyche will be forever damaged. 

‘Potter,’ Tom says softly, but intensely, his tone _glacial._ ‘For propriety's sake, I don’t want to hear you make that sound _ever_ again.’

It takes several seconds before Potter’s mouth falls open in realization, as if to spell the letter ‘o’. Slowly, gradually, those lips stretch into the biggest grin Tom has yet to see on the boy’s face, illuminated by a mischievous glint in the boy’s eyes, which can only mean one thing: _nothing good_.

‘My, my… I didn’t know you had it in you.’ Potter says in a low, suggestive tone that has _no_ business on the boy’s lips. ‘Who knew that our perfect, proper Head Boy, resident Golden Boy of Hogwarts, would be in possession of such a foul, _dirty_ mind. To think of his fellow classmate in such a depraved way, how… very… _scandalous_.’

Tom stares in complete, utter horror.

Then, a moment later, _fury_ – in its purest, rawest form – licks up Tom’s spine.

Potter crossing the line is nothing new. But _this_ is pushing far beyond Tom’s limits, which Tom has extended time after time, only to be rewarded with unacceptable behavior in greater quantity and intensity –

_No more._

Potter will _pay_ for his transgressions. 

Tom thinks of several ways of murdering Potter in the slowest, most painful way possible. Tom imagines Potter’s cold, lifeless body on the floor and revels in the look of despair as the light fades from those otherworldly bright eyes, completely unaware of the rooster that is standing a few feet above him . . . its small bead-like eyes glinting with purpose. . .

The only thing that could have warned Tom of the ambush is the soft sound of a rustle in the air, so quiet it could have been anyone’s imagination.

The next thing Tom sees is feathers. Lots and lots of feathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuckoo: 1 - 0 :Tom
> 
> Comments are, as always, highly appreciated! 🥰


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